“Oh yeah?” Tripp asked, smiling at the idea. “What about you? Do you have a favorite?”
“I love them all,” Jillian admitted. “But I guess my favorite would be ‘The First Noel’ or ‘Silent Night.’”
They had reached the covered bridge, so he rolled down his window and gave a little honk.
When he was convinced that no one was coming, he headed into the thunderous darkness.
“So you like the classic Christmas songs, huh?” he asked when they emerged on the other side.
“Those are the ones you sing along to,” she said.
“You mean atchurch?” he asked.
She nodded.
“So… you don’t sing along to the radio?” he asked.
“No,” she said, smiling like he was being silly. “Of course not.”
“Not even if you love the song?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“What if you’re alone in the car?” he asked. “And your very favorite song comes on, a real bop?”
“I guess I know whatyoudo,” Jillian said, laughing.
“Of course I do,” he told her. “I’ll bet most people do.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jillian said, shaking her head.
On the radio, Paul McCartney melted into the opening notes of Dean Martin’s “Let it Snow.”
“Now that’s a good one,” Tripp said, trying not to smile. “Kind of song a man might be tempted to sing along with.”
“Oh really?” Jillian asked.
He glanced over and saw that her smile was filled with anticipation.
He’d been trying so hard to get her to take him seriously. But maybe sometimes she needed to let her hair down a little, too. Maybe they could meet someplace in the middle.
Throwing caution to the wind, Tripp crooned along with the King of Cool, tossing his head back for emphasis and letting go of the wheel with one hand to snap to the beat.
Beside him, Jillian giggled.
“Come on, girl,” Tripp said, gesturing to her. “Sing.”
She didn’t join him on the first verse, or even thesecond. But Tripp didn’t let it impact him one bit. He sang it out loud enough for the both of them.
Just as Tripp decided this was going to remain a solo performance, he was surprised and delighted to hear a clear, bright soprano join him.
Jillian’s eyes sparkled as she sang out the lyrics, low at first, but then a little louder as she got comfortable.
Too soon, the song ended, and so did the magical moment.
“You’re a good singer,” he told her honestly. “I’ll bet the girls love to hear you sing at church.”
“It’s kind of fun to sing in the car,” she admitted, her eyes wide, like she was sort of amazed at herself for doing it.
